Teenage DrEAMES
by M.K.Randall
Summary: Arthur is the talented but awkward, isolated gay kid that the jocks kick around, living for the Cobol High Glee Club, New Perceptions. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory to see the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!
1. Part I

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee', but I am terribly gay, so that's got to count for something, right? Anyway, this was supposed to be a smaller project than it's turned out to be. I'm tempted to say it will be a three-part piece, but, depending on what you folks think of it, I might do more. So, three parts until the end of 'Never Been Kissed', Dream-Team style. The rest of the plotlines won't really be followed (not enough Inception Cast to cover the twelve-member Glee Club) but Eamthur centric. Which is Klaine centric, if you see it that way ... Okay, buzz off now. Why are you reading this? Read the damn story! I mean, enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

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><p>Arthur was having a no good, very bad day.<p>

"Why don't you make yourself useful, go spy on The Forkers or something?"

"The _Forgers_."

"Whatever … Then you can wear all the feather boas you want! You'll fit right in." Nash laughed at his own joke, slinking further into his lousy posture as he tossed a football across the room.

Arthur fought the urge to grind his teeth, sick to death of the stupid little antics of his fellow high school students. Not only was he the only one to do any work around here, but this time, they wouldn't even let him do it.

Why couldn't Mr. Saito have let him into the girls team?

He shook himself. As things stood, that had not happened. He could never have guy friends, much less a boyfriend, could not afford Armani suits or that new Vivienne Westwood peacoat, and could not be on the _goddamn_ girls team; he had to cope with reality as it was.

Most days, he hated reality.

The reality of the current situation, though, was that they weren't taking his help, and though he was tempted look to Dom for support, he knew the other boy's policy was one of non-interference, being quarterback and all for the Cobol Engineers Football Team, which didn't exactly favor Arthur. Dom was in enough trouble with them already. Instead, he did what made even those more amicable with him call him a stick-in-the-mud; he took the teasing oh-so literally. After all, it was a perfectly valid way of finding an excuse to leave, and one such as himself had to become particularly adept at clawing one's way out of sticky situations.

Straightening to insure his posture remained impeccable, he snatched his anally perfect diagram off the stand and raised a challenging eyebrow at them all. "Fine," he stated curtly, and strode out.

Who needed them anyway?

_Then, in a castle far away ..._

"That's another hundred you owe me, mate!"

The cheery voice, laden with an often-sultry English accent, echoed up the ornate stairwell of Mombasa Academy. The institution was a vast study in antiquity, charming for the first month but archaic and oppressive for all the rest. The boy found the uniform to be the same way, frequently discarding his tie much to his teachers' chagrin. At the current moment, as he hung off the banister heedless of the rest of the bustling student population, it was folded to hang slightly from his breast pocket, a mockery of the gentleman's handkerchief. Instead, his collar was open and unbuttoned. When and if he got to class, the blazer would likely be discarded to the back of his seat and sleeves rolled to his elbows; if he was going to work so hard for his shapely, beefy arms, he would damn well find a way to show them off, along with his roguish smile. The female staff didn't mind.

Last year, these antics had been troublesome to teachers. More than troublesome, he had frequently been admonished for them. By now, however, they seemed to have given up; other students still had trim looks demanded of them, but pretty much every teacher in the school knew of Eames, knew him not to be the clueless rebel he had often seemed, and didn't bother him. He was still an annoyance, but tolerable.

Despite what it seemed, he was much better behaved at this school than he had been at the rest. He had yet to get in a single fight; though some resented his near-celebrity status, the boys of the school flocked to him in the corridors for everything from just a fist bump to strained pleas for girl advice. Which he dispensed liberally. (He didn't have to like that sex to understand what attracted them. The rest of the students knew that.) He had put The Forgers on the map for the first time since the late 1800's, and maintained one of the highest GPAs in their Honors Program, in which he was taking almost all college courses, even if he missed an average of three schooldays a month for no discernable reason whatsoever.

Basically, Eames attended because he didn't have anything better to do. That, and he never missed a Forgers' practice.

"Gambling is not allowed, Mr. Eames," the MILF English teacher chided with a smile.

Her hips swayed and skirts whispered in a way that had most boys panting, but Eames just leaned on an elbow and nodded with a smile of his own. "Yes, Ms. DeLacey." They had an understanding, one that involved her leaving her classroom door unlocked after hours so he and his boys could use it nefariously. Anything from poker games to sex happened in there, out of the watchful eyes of the dorm directors, and as long as it was always cleaned up after, this could continue. He happened to know she liked the intrigue and danger of it all, the same way she liked the hallway whispers about the shape of her derrière.

"Oh, and this might be yours."

She flipped a poker chip to him and he caught it, rubbing it between his fingers. "Thanks, miss."

Before they knew he was gay, they thought he was shagging their English teacher. From the meaningful looks, it was pretty obvious why.

A head of dark curly hair had Eames taking off like a shot, throwing an arm around Yusuf's shoulders before his best friend could escape him. "Yusuf, my man, you unbeliever! I told you it was quite possible, made more so by my charm …"

"What are you on about, Eames?" The heavy eastern accent that complimented the nerdy personality had previously made this boy invisible. Then Eames had become his best friend, simply by a chance early meeting and being paired in Chem Lab; they both respected a good intellect. Yusuf's rep hadn't quite done a 180, but pretty damn close.

"Miss Perry, dear. The Big K. P. Pop sensation? Whipped cream? Ringing any bells?"

"You did _not_. The idea took?" Yusuf looked aghast and pleased at once.

"Well, I made it appear self-generated, led them in the direction of that kind of pop, threw out a few ideas. You know, classic manipulation."

"You dog!" Yusuf shoved the laughing Eames. "You actually got them to accept your arrangement of 'Teenage Dream'?"

"Yesterday's hour and a half rehearsing it supports the affirmative," he nodded, casually examining his fingers as though he had not achieved the first performance of a song by a female and modern artist in the history of their Glee Club. Or, you know, whatever.

"You are going to clean up!" Yusuf cheered. "And bloody hell, so am I!" Yusuf pulled his compatriot into a brief hug of celebration, now assured that all the bets to the contrary were going to pay off.

"Of course we are, mate; have I ever led you wrong?"

He gave the other's shoulder a familiar squeeze before dashing off to his first class as to not have to hear the answering list of how many times he _had_.

Another Forger he dimly recognized passed him on his way. "Surprise performance in the commons today. Pass it on."

"What?" He squawked. "So soon?"

"The boys are excited about it!" He called back. "Estrogen's a new thing in this school!"

Eames laughed, muttering "Well, girls just want to have fun, right?"

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><p><span>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Ideas are always welcome.


	2. Part II

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee' ... Mmkay, so maybe it will be four parts, because this one rambles, a lot. So shoot me. And I gave you a cliffhanger! Oh, quit your whining; sometimes that feels like the only way to get reviews! So what if I'm a praise whore? Don't judge me. And yes, I'm a little defensive, but you're a little weird if you're still reading this jibber-jabber. I thought you clicked for a story? Hellooooo, the story is down there, honey-bun! Enjoy!

**BUT WAIT!**

I have been kindly informed by a reviewer that I need a beta-reader. Hopefully, her/he would also edit not only future chapters, but the ones posted. Any volunteers? (Prety pleese? i realy neeed oen. ;D)

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

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><p>Cobol High was your typical high school, by which it's meant that it had a firmly, silently enforced status quo. Jocks like Dom, attractive even if they can't dance, stood at the top next to the cheerleaders like Ariadne. That had to be meticulously maintained, but when Dom joined 'New Perceptions', he upset the whole order of things, and that was precisely what had made Arthur go starry-eyed.<p>

Well no, not starry-eyed, precisely. He was too sensible for that; they did become friends and all first, but even Dom, willing to join their group and date the talented but alternative Mal over the cheerleaders, was still a straight male and therefore, by very definition, wary of Arthur.

'Gay kid' wasn't even on the ladder, not only because the category landed so far below, but because it was such a rare category to be occupied. Considering the town, Arthur had to idly wonder if he was the only 'out' kid to ever pass through those walls. It was unlikely he was the first gay one, but highly likely he was the only one out. He chuckled weakly at the idea, thinking he needed a medal for it. Or maybe they should just snap his picture so he could sign it and they could hang it on the wall. 'First Fag to Graduate!' It would be like those remarkable people to visit restaurants, but actually more like those pictures that carefully stated 'first female speaker' or 'first African American performer'. His could be chary and nameless, just like that. You know, let the next generation know the gays of this time weren't _all _cowards.

He growled, frustrated by his own indecision as he hit his head on the car seat headrest. Long, pale fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "Okay, Arthur," he murmured. "Make a list. Pros and cons. You aren't just gay, you're smart."

And apparently mad, too, because he was talking to himself.

Okay, cons first. Cynical and logical usually overlap, or so he thought. What does he lose by going? Well, time in Glee, but that didn't seem to be time spent productively today, anyway. Gas, but his kiddy had just had a tune-up, so she was in prime condition to make the trek with minimal waste. He'd get home late, but he didn't have much impetus to be there, as he had little homework and his dad would be home late as well.

Benefits? Escaping his own life for a while, getting to play a secret agent, seeing how the other half lived … Really, the first one was enough impetus to leave.

He revved his engine and headed home. He needed to prepare an outfit first. Black and red, wasn't it? Something along those lines …

_Then, in a castle far away ..._

"Thanks, mate, but no thanks."

"But E-"

"Look, Josh, you're cute and all, but I'm just not interested. Savvy?"

He flushed, and Eames realized that he'd undid all of his great rejecting work through his compliment. "You think I'm cute?"

Truly, he was adorable, a mop of blonde curls and all slim and fit, the type Eames would take to Ms. DeLacey's room if he were feeling particularly raunchy, except for the fact Josh was a mandatory-strings-attached kind of guy.

Unlike some other boys.

His eyes flitted across the lunchroom to where the ever lithe and attractive Pete sat. (A boy he'd gone his fair share of rounds with, to be sure; Pete liked his accent and he like Pete's sass.) He also violated dress code by, within the first week of school, 'accidentally' throwing all his white shirts in with his reds. Third year in a row he'd done it, too, so his outfit was always augmented with bright pink shirts unless otherwise was absolutely necessary. He also had an earring stud, subtle and hidden during class until he brushed his hair back at break, and Eames had the benefit of knowing that wasn't the only piercing he had. At the moment, it was exposed as the fabulous little twink was picking at his iceberg salad as though it had done something to deeply offend him.

Ah, brilliance.

"Sure I do. Pete does, too." He smiled and winked. "Think about it."

Poor Josh; the boyish, soccer-playing simpleton, looked like he'd been slapped with a wet fish as Eames sauntered off. Match-making was just one of the many services a man in his position offered. Although, he cackled, Pete would eat that boy _alive_.

The surplus of gays at this school was a pleasant surprise when he arrived. The knowledge that he'd turned a fair number didn't escape him, nor the fact that you could sleep with Eames and still be categorized as 'heteroflexible'. What the heck, it's a free country, right? He knew of four gays in his class, and eighteen in the rest of the classes combined, many coming for refuge. Of course, he knew many that the rest of the school didn't; he was one of the six that were out.

It was well-known that 'Eames' translated to 'a good time', but that was about it. No one held his attention; they were either too easy to get or not worth the effort of catching.

_Back to reality ..._

Arthur pulled up into the parking lot, once again steeling himself against the icy flow of self-doubt. It was quickly eclipsed by the swell of adrenaline necessary to commit an act of delinquency. This was, like, a _hundred_ times worse than singing in the library, and, for Arthur? That had been pretty bad.

Still, he had made a fairly decent mock-up of the uniform out of the many suit pieces in his closet, so he had to forge on ahead, pun fully intended. He would avoid all fraternization, sticking to the banal story that he was a new student, and get his preview of the competition. Then he would leave as though he had never stepped in. Easy as pie.

The task was made simpler by the quietude of the building when he entered it. It was by no means empty, lights still alive and humming, but apparently class was still in session. He hadn't deliberated too long after all.

The vacancy of the halls was for the best, considering he bedazzling affect of the halls on a newcomer. He was glad no one witnessed his composure slip. He placed his sunglasses back over his face, which would hopefully provide needed distance as well as prevent future recognition.

Refusing to be daunted, he wandered through to an enormous staircase, and decided to climb it. He could take this time to explore.

_That far away castle again ..._

Have you had that friend that, honestly, you love to death, but it's really hard to be that close with them? And that difficulty isn't from her or his distance, or your inability to click, because you do! Simply put, he or her talks with and chats with and laughs with and jokes with too many damn people for there to be much time? The friend that knows everyone, that talks to everyone in passing, that everyone considers a 'close friend' except of the 'close' part? The person who either drags you along for a ride or smiles at you before leaving you in the dust, the whirlwind of others (s)he's been demanded by? Often, it's the talented over-achiever. Sometimes, it's a playful British flirt.

The point is this: when one asks Eames to spread the word, the word passes a mile a minute. He had been told there would be a performance just prior to first period. Without aid of any others knowing, the whole school would've been aware by lunchtime. As it were, it was common knowledge by mid-second period.

So, as his favorite part of the day rolled around (the ending bell, of course), he was surrounded by jittery boys asking him if he felt ready and wishing him good luck, to which he would respond 'of course' and 'don't you mean break a leg?' respectively, either of which would earn the laughter of the listener.

Still, he was nervous, which was atypical. Was it because he had single-handedly insured the whole school would be in attendance? No. Was it because it was a girl's song he was singing? Definitely not. Simply, something was tingling inside him telling him something was going to happen. Not something bad; he was the best of the Forgers, he could handle anything! No, just something significant.

That feeling did not quell his excitement, but only added to it, doing nothing to stem the urge to leap from his seat or alter the fact that he did so, rushing down the stairs with the rest of the adolescents in cattle-like fashion, anxious to do what he did best before an appreciative audience.

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><p><span>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Ideas are always welcome. Special thanks to CaptainCrash and Bethany; it is nice to know one's work is appreciated.

**_If there are any other episodes you'd like to see Eamthur-fied, let me know!_**


	3. Part III

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee' ... Okay, okay, five parts! And I still need a Beta, for the record. "The number of the counting shall be three; not for, not two 'cept that it proceed to three. Five is right out.' ... No, I don't own Monty Python either. I've realized how long this becomes when telling from both perspectives, so it's slow going. However, I hope you're enjoying it anyway; they don't sing yet, but they do meet! It would be an impressive amount of rambling to keep them from at least doing that in this chapter. :) Enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

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><p>The sudden wave of schoolboys struck him with all the force of high-tide. Not to say they shoved by rudely, but the bustle was enough to seemingly compel him in their same direction, and, as it was, they were all rushing the same way. As he made his way down he stairs, though, the flow had ebbed slightly, even if he had yet to puzzle out what caused this chaotic mess.<p>

This couldn't be the typical ending to a school day, could it?

The shouts of 'Forgers! In the Auditorium!' suggested otherwise.

Still, he refused to be one of the hurried masses, stepping carefully, purposefully down. The uncertainty on his face was masked with coolly precise curiosity; he just needed one of the natives to explain their rituals to him.

Eyes skimming over the rushing boys, they landed upon one in particular. Maybe it was that he was the only one with his blazer off, held carelessly over one shoulder like some sort of model, and the white was naturally eye-catching. Maybe it was that, among sheep, the dog herding them stands out. Maybe it was that he moved with confidence and delicious muscles pressing against the tenuous white fabric of the shirt, so appealing that he pulled down his glasses to get a better look.

Whatever it was, it had the pattern of Arthur's steps tripping up to hasten down the stairs to him.

"Um, excuse me?"

He kept moving, seemingly oblivious.

"Excuse me?" He repeated, more loudly, reaching out to brush his hand against the other's shoulder in a weak tap for attention.

"Sorry, mate, but I can't right n- …" He turned around and his turquoise eyes widened, scanning up and down with a sharp exhale. He had stopped his attempt to escape and, in fact, leaned forward a little with a slight smile. "Excuse _me_, love. What can I do for you?"

Arthur had no idea what to make of the turn around, confused in a number of ways; first and foremost, his actions were strange, and besides that his looks and voice were confounding all on their own.

He swallowed heavily, attempting to ignore the curling of attraction in his abdomen at the sound of the words that poured from the other boy, softened by an English accent. His eyes had power behind them, and Arthur could feel the impact of the gaze when it hit him.

Ever the practical person, Arthur blinked, shook his head, and reminded himself no stupidly charming, wicked smile was that knee-weakening. No presumably straight boys wanted him creeping on them anyway, and Arthur had learned is safer to presume straight until proven fabulous.

Instead, he forced his vocal chords out of their hormone-stalled inaction. "May I ask you a question?" _Of course_, he thought, realizing himself an idiot, _I just did_. "I'm … I'm new here." It caught up with him as he spoke that he had been addressed as 'love', hence the stutter.

"'New here'?" He inquired, and Arthur froze up, thinking himself caught. Damn, the outfit was admittedly not as close to the uniform as he had thought, b- "Interesting name." He realized when the boy chuckled that he was just being teased. "I'm Eames." A rough, calloused hand pushed off the stair banister to offer itself to him. He took it briefly and avoided blushing at the contact.

"Um, Arthur. What's going on?" He responded, a glance indicating he was speaking of whatever caused the stampede in the halls.

There was confusion on Eames' face, but that rapidly faded into amusement. "You mean you haven't heard, pet?" He rolled his head back to laugh, and Arthur curled his lip at the condescension; Eames' arrogance was about as irritating and Arthur's primal attraction to it. "Oh goodness, The Forgers! Every now and then they throw an impromtu performance in the Auditorium." He gave Arthur what seemed to be (was it wishful thinking?) a flirty 'just between us' look, almost a wink, and added, "Let's just say it tends to shut the school down for a while."

He raised an eyebrow at the information processed. "Wait, so the glee club here is … kind of cool?" He meant 'accepted', but that sounded pathetic, as did 'liked'. A plain 'cool' seemed far too much to hope for, so he prefaced it with 'kind of' and ignored that it sounded 'kind of' stupid.

"The Forgers are like … rockstars!" Arthur felt gravity increase in his jawline, and it dropped accordingly. His tongue was heavy with speechlessness, but fortunately Eames gave him no further chance to embarrass himself (at least through words), murmuring "Come on, darling." He smiled and grabbed Arthur's hand off his satchel, weaving their fingers together before Arhur could feign protest. "I know a short-cut."

_'... pretty, without any make-up on ...'_

This boy, the Arthur fellow? Was cute.

Like, _uber_ cute. Cuteness _overload_.

When Eames was getting ready to perform, he wasn't a real fan of other people; he preferred a little bit of solitude in order to get in character. In many ways, he was always in character, but still. He focused, went over his lyrics, forgot the annoyances that often were his peers. I mean, sure, he loved his boys, but they buzzed around him and it got tiring. In performance, he knew what to expect from them and visa versa; he could entertain, wow them from a distance, give them what they want.

The fact he was constantly desired in more personal ways was initially flattering, but quickly became more bothersome. He got the feeling they assumed him not just the showman but the flirt in the halls, the one that could basically consistently provide them with a good time, and didn't know what they were asking for. He could promise that, but he offered so much more.

However, apparently, the timid boy that had tapped on him had never seen him perform, and though the blush that appeared at Eames' nonsense was pretty, he found the confused and dismayed frown _fantastic_.

Why? Because it spelled 'unimpressed'. It meant that a wink and a song would not do the trick. The interest was there, maybe, or possibly just the embarrassment but by the way he held himself it was at _least_ certain he way gay. Just, never _easy_.

To win him would be a hard fought battle, and there was nothing Eames preferred over a challenge.

Of course, to say a wink and a song wouldn't win the boy didn't mean it wouldn't help, so, as he set off to do what he did best, he slipped his fingers into Arthur's – oh doesn't that name just roll off the tongue, with the perfect blend of regality and childishness – hand and tugged him through the halls, until they were almost running through a secluded area of the school. An area he wasn't supposed to be in, but who was watching?

When they finally reached the auditorium, it's Arthur that tugs them to a stop, his soft but solid voice once more making itself known. The boys face had screwed itself up in consternation, but all Eames had to do was glance at what Arthur's dark eyes were on to understand.

"Strange inscription ..." There was a Latin phrase inscribed above the door, and as much as Arthur hated admitting ignorance, he couldn't read Latin.

Fortunately, Eames did not make him ask. "_'Somnium Magnus'_; it means 'dream a little bigger', darling."

Arthur cocked his head to the side and smiled slightly, but only for a moment, with a little shrug. Eames was unfortunate to miss it, but it was time for the show, so he pushed the doors open and finally dropped Arthur's hand. After he led him in, the doors closed behind them, and Arthur jumped a little, caged.

Eames would've liked to spend more time mingling with Arthur in the hallway, but this was one show he would nor be late for.

_'... funny, when I tell the punchline wrong ...'_

The auditorium was daunting in size and elegance. The number of boys inside was also an impressive collection to show up for a team of glee clubbers, those doing what public school boys would avoid like the plague and call 'homo explosion'. It was ... almost poetic.

However, Arthur instinctively tucked his arms around himself, doing it subtlety by clutching his satchel to anchor him. "Oh, I stick out like sore thumb." Not that he hadn't noticed earlier, but, with Eames holding his hand, it felt safe to be there, more welcome and familiar. It felt like the step taken to mount the bus home. He didn't have that feeling anymore.

Eames flashed him another careless smile, but his glance was by no means flippant; he knew he was going to be okay. Still, the British boy scoffed a little, the manner friendly and incomprehensibly understanding. "Next time, don't forget your jacket, 'new kid'." He reached out to straighten Arthur's lapel, and then let his hand wander up to brush hair behind his ear. The moment lasted slightly longer than it rightfully should have, and hope bubbled up inside him, hope that he had found one of his own kind. "You'll fit right in."

He had found comedic value in the phrase 'all the good ones are gay'. If he was right about this one, he might have to reevaluate his opinion, at least about the looks portion of the equation. Of course, in all likelihood this beautiful creature was intolerably vapid, only time would tell.

His self-deterrent musings were dispelled when a growing, steady 'dun-dun-dun, dun-dun-dun," was begun by the other choirboys, and Eames pulled away.

Eames leaned over to drop his own bag on a chair beside him, smile still sticking as he stepped backwards to join his mates. Arthur squinted at that look, starting to think he'd missed something if that expression was as mischievous as it seemed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, love ..."

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><p><span>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Ideas are always welcome. Special thanks to Bethany, SlipIntoTheDream, ButtButtDoodle, and K; it is nice to know one's work is appreciated (even if the message is just short and sweet).

**_If there are any other episodes you'd like to see Eamthur-fied, let me know!_**


	4. Part IV

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee' nor Katy Perry ... Honestly, I don't know how many parts, now. Sorry it took a while for me to get this out. I have the next chapter written, though, so it will be posted eventually. You know how you can best speed that up. (Okay, I really don't advocate being a review whore, but it is nice to know I'm not talking to myself.) Of course, R&R starts with reading. Um, just sayin', my eyes are up h- *cough* I mean, the chapter's down there. Enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

* * *

><p><em>"Before you met me … I was alright, but things were kinda heavy.<br>You brought me to life.  
>Now every February … you'll be my valentine. Valentine …<br>__  
>Let's go all the way tonight,<br>No regrets, just love …  
>We can dance … until we die.<br>You and I will be young forever!_

_You. Make. Me. Feel like I'm livin' a Teenage Dream._  
><em>The way you turn me on … I. Can't. Sleep.<em>  
><em>Let's runaway, and don't ever look back.<em>  
><em>Don't <span>ever<span> look back!_

_Let's go all the way tonight,  
>No regrets, just love …<br>We can dance … until we die.  
>You and I, we'll be young forever!<em>

_You. Make. Me. Feel like I'm livin' a Teenage Dream!  
>The way you turn me on … I. Can't. Sleep.<br>Let's runaway, and don't ever look back.  
>Don't <span>ever<span> look back!_

_I'mma get your heart racing  
>In my skin-tight jeans<br>Be your teenage dream tonight_

_Oooh, Wooah!_

_Yeah, Yeeeaaah!_

_You. Make. Me. Feel like I'm livin' a Teenage Dream!  
>The way you turn me on … I. Can't. Sleep.<br>Let's runaway, and don't ever look back.  
>Don't <span>ever<span> look back!_

_My. Heart. Stops. … when you look at me.  
>Just. One. Touch.<br>Now, baby, I believe This. Is. Real.  
>So take a chance, and don't ever look back.<br>Don't ever look back!_

_I'mma get your heart racing  
>In my skin-tight jeans<br>Be your teenage dream tonight_

_Let you put your hands on me  
>In my skin-tight jeans<br>Be your teenage dream tonight ..."  
><em>

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><p>To say Eames threw Arthur off balance was to say the ocean was wet.<p>

_Words_, he reminded himself clinically. _It's just_ _words_ …_ set to an aesthetically pleasing musical arrangement. _

_It's an expression of hormonal inebriation leading to bad judgment._

_It's a foolish recrafting of the perfect romance Disney invented, created to be pulverized and sold off piece by piece in the name of the music industry's big business, money-making schemes._

_It's … the humanoid equivalent of the humpback whales' mating songs?_

For all the cold logic and sense in his reasoning, it really wasn't helping. The litany of sweet nothings pouring from the boy's mouth stemmed the flow of rational thought before he had made it halfway through the second verse, and Arthur fell to the mercy of heart-speeding glances and breathlessly cooed suggestion.

Every playful smile and overdone wink was in his direction. Eames was even bold enough to splay his hand towards him with the word 'you' before clutching his chest as though Arthur wasn't the only one affected. It was all just dim mockery and showmanship, of course, but the thought was a lovely one.

So lovely, Arthur considered as he watched the lips shaping those words, the bright eyes focused solely on him. This accompanied by the uniforms and dorky dance moves had a terribly 50's classic sort of feel to it, but Arthur had always been a sucker for the old fashioned, fingers-brushing sort of romance society had so rapidly progressed beyond.

Oh, sure, the song was a calling for sex with lines like 'put your hands on me' and 'let's go all the way tonight', but it was more than that. It was about dancing and dreams and Valentines, and it was delivered by a boy who seemed not only willing to sing a female's song, but enthusiastic in doing so.

He tried to choke it down, but a smile escaped him when Eames neither hesitated nor faltered when saying 'skintight jeans'. He thought liberalism like that only existed in places like New York, Portland, or San Francisco.

All too soon, the song was pulling to a close, the British boy's eyes never leaving his own as the notes of 'tonight' trailed off into oblivion.

One upwards nod, and the magic seemed to be broken for everyone but him, as they all broke into motion and swarmed him. Arthur distantly noted he had begun clapping, but it was easier to reclaim automotive control when the too-charming lead singer was blocked from sight.

As the pieces of his brain not completely stewed in dopamine clicked back into place, he processed that the immediate reaction to his performance by the surrounding peers was collective positivity, threaded with an ambience unlike sudden and spontaneous support. It had the tang of expectation to it, and the dawning realization of Eames' popularity blindsided him.

That would make Eames Mombasa Prep's moral equivalent of Dominic Cobb. Why did he always like the popular ones? Not only did it feel shallow (okay, considering he'd known Eames for all of five minutes, it _was_ pretty shallow) but it cultivated hopes of the impossible. A boy like Dom or Eames was never without copious prospects, and indubitably hetero.

Of course, the thought made Arthur scowl, and such was the moment when Eames wrestled his way through the crowd. "Oh, darling, I could've sworn you smiled! Was I hallucinating, or do you have dimples?" Unlike Arthur's, Eames' grin was not infrequent, as he was currently demonstrating.

Before Arthur was allowed the time to respond, a plucky, eastern voice spoke from behind him. "Eames? Who is this?" A stranger that apparently had no sense of personal space as he was insistently plucking at Arthur's blazer _and this was rather expensive so I'd prefer it if you'd not put your filthy, unappreciative hands on it, thanks much._ "This is not our uniform."

"'Course not," Eames agreed casually, smiling eyes still on Arthur as the blood drained from the intruder's face. "He's a spy."

The word rippled around the room as the Forgers caught on, crowing it at each other to spread it with inhuman speed. Arthur's vision swam and he lucidly imagined everyone in the room but Eames chanting and chasing him off the premises, as bees protect the queen (oh, the irony) and Eames sardonically waving goodbye as they took him down.

It quickly cleared as he heard Eames shouting "Ladies, ladies, calm down. I'm handling it." They all not only quieted but accepted his defiance of the gender normative in referring to them. Arthur found that both impressive and disturbing. He wasn't left much time to think as Eames nodded to both him and the one behind him he had yet to face. "Yusuf. Darling. Come with me."

_You make me feel like I'm living a ..._

The last question Arthur had expected to be asked after that little incident was 'how do you take your coffee'. He supposed the 'babe' at the end of it, though, was predictable enough to compensate for the whole affair.

"Um, black."

"Oh, a traditionalist then, are we?"

He wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say, but then again, Eames seemed teasing and a black coffee was pushed across the posh table in their posh dining room as Eames and the eastern kid whose name escaped Arthur sat in their posh chairs across from him. "Darling, this is Yusuf, and Yusuf, this is Darling."

"Arthur." He corrected, before amending "It's _surprisingly_ civilized" His eyes flicked to Eames, who smirked, before he continued to address Yusuf, "for you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying."

"We are_ not _going to beat you up," Yusuf stolidly put forth.

"You're so bloody _awful_ at spying, love. It's endearing, and hardly likely to be the reason you came."

Arthur coughed lightly at that, and wondered how that sort of talk between one boy and another could be acceptable in a high school. That, and an acapella group that sang Katy Perry songs … it only added up in one absurd, despicably utopian way.

"May I ask you both a question?"

Two nods.

"Are you guys all gay?"

Yusuf laughed. "Eames is enough of an impression for all of us, eh?"

Eames chuckled. "No."

Arthur's heart shriveled a little. That's the trouble with wearing your heart on your sleeve; it gets exposed to the sun and shrivels like a raisin.

And then he continued, "Well, I am, but Yusuf is still nobly pursuing the idea of having a girlfriend." He got an elbow in the ribcage for that, and Arthur pretended it was the violence he was smiling at.

Yusuf picked it up from there. "This is not a gay school. We just have a zero-tolerance harassment policy. Everybody gets treated the same, no matter what they are. It's pretty simple."

Arthur was struck, quite literally, speechless. He eyed his coffee and attempted not to allow the simple, hopeful and naïve words to affect him.

"Yusuf, mate, would you excuse us?"

He nodded, bewildered by Eames' sudden serious demeanor and the over all high-strung demeanor of the spying kid. "Take it easy, Arthur," he suggested kindly as he departed.

This left him with just Eames, and Arthur was unsure how he should feel about that.

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Ideas are always welcome.

**_If there are any other episodes you'd like to see Eamthur-fied, let me know!_**


	5. Part V

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee' nor Katy Perry ... And I'm out of things to say. Oh! I got the chapter out quickly? See? So please read and review. Enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

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><p><em>Yep, he's gay, so ... Eames and Arthur. Arthur and Eames. Eamthur. Artheames. Eathur? Areames?<em>

Eames' forced himself to speak simply to break from his own contemplation. "So, pet, I take it you're having trouble at school." Open-ended enough to allow elaboration, but not as intrusive as a question; Arthur had been unaware Eames understood 'tactful'.

Thinking it likely that he would not know this stranger for long, he took a chance and decided there was no reason not to divulge his problems. This was supposed to be a safe place, and these boys had apparently found all the answers; it was well worth a shot. "I'm the _only_ person out of the closet at my school …" He sighed, averting his eyes to attempt to pass of his blatant emotionality as annoyance. The attempt failed. "And I … I try to stay strong about it, but there is this Neanderthal who has made it his mission to make my life a living Hell … and _nobody_ seems to notice."

Eames leaned forward to press an elbow against the table and a palm against his cheek. He sighed as he stirred his coffee. "Ah, the toil of public school," He muttered, only half-teasingly. "Well, I'll be fucked. That's a downright mess. Believe me, I know how you feel."

Arthur, by dint of being Arthur, took this as mockery. "What would you know about public schools?" He snapped before he could think better of it. "Haven't you been spoon-fed all your life?"

The question would've been a valid one for all the attending students but Eames. His history was unlike that of any other Mombasa student; the Academy wasn't in the practice of taking on troubled rejects from other schools. Their student body was supposed to be composed entirely of the cream of the crop, as was the purpose of private schooling; snatching up kids that would do great things, becoming and/or remaining fabulously rich so they could be overfed alumni with checkbooks that could drop a million and not miss it.

However, in that same vein, what his smile couldn't get him, his money typically could, and being the son of a wealthy senator who was more than pleased to have his prodigal son at a boarding school made his admission next to easy. Adding to that his stellar test scores and academic history, it made the odds heavily stilted. The voice they heard before the interview as he messed around with the Forgers that showed he had potential to be the best of the best made his admission dead certain. His attitude and smart mouth did not earn him any points, but it wasn't enough to tip the scales in the wrong direction.

The truth was that, in this life, Eames was the type that got most anything he wanted. Arthur was the type that didn't. At the end of the day, that was what it came down to.

"I got kicked out of them, three times actually." His eyes were downcast and he felt an unexpected flutter of nerves; Eames had never been embarrassed about his rebel history until facing this clean-cut boy. Here it had just served to cultivate popularity, revealing that everything hinted at in his debonair smiles was true. A gay man could be a man's man, after all; it made more sense than it didn't. "I got taunted at my old school, and it_ really_ pissed me off. I got in fights, and it started out with pithy commentary, but, bloody Hell, darling, my temper got the best of me." He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "That's the thing; it appears to be two bad options otherwise; take the beating and be the martyr or fight back and get blamed for the whole mess. When the other kid gets a broken nose, the 'bullying' claim gets fobbed off. They knew precisely what was going on, but I had given them an excuse to ignore it, and you could just tell, nobody _really_ … gave a damn. It was like 'if your gay, your life's just going to be miserable. Sorry.' So I went private, I came here. Simple as that."

Arthur nodded, staring down his coffee and nodding. "That would appear to be the case."

They sat in a moment of stiff silence, Arthur curled inward and apparently attempting to appear smaller, and Eames stretching out, arms on the chairs beside him, surveying the adorable creature before him as he attempted to think of the answer.

"Well, it's not the most elegant solution, but you're seem to have two options, don't you, sweetheart?"

His lips twisted into a concerned look at the petname, but Eames continued nonetheless.

"I mean, I'd love to tell you to come enroll here, but the tuition is pretty steep, doll, and I take it from the color commentary on our way of life that that's not your style." He raised his coffee to his lips for a brief moment. (In the meantime, Arthur pondered whether or not a socioeconomic status could be deemed a 'style'; he decided that he'd believe it when he read it in Vogue.)

"Or you can, you know," Eames made a flippant hand motion. "Stop playing the victim."

"What? What the _Hell_ is that supposed to mean! I don't _ask_ for th-"

"Whoa, whoa, that's not what I meant, hon! I meant you can _refuse_ to be the victim they want you to be," Eames held up his hand, pacifying Arthur with the gesture and looking thoroughly bewildered. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed. "Blast, where is Darren when you need him?" Arthur glance at him questioningly, and he briefly explained, "The last front man was better at these sorts of things."

"Hm. Do you get bullied gay kids wandering through here spying, only to be accidentally serenaded, often?"

Eames grinned tiredly. "More than you would guess, kitten."

Arthur glowered. Now he was small and fuzzy? "Fine. Define 'refuse' for me, because it's not like I wouldn't decline if the option were presented. They're not exactly asking if I want fries with my slushies."

It didn't appear Eames knew the significance of 'slushies' but he shrugged and answered. "Prejudice is just ignorance, dear. You have a chance, right now, to teach 'em."

"How?"

"Confront them! Call them out!" Arthur ignored the British boy's aside mumbled afterward about 'doesn't always work too well, but hey …' "You're clever, love, and you don't seem the type to fight with fists. Hold your temper and do it publicly, but fight with words. Scream at them, if you have to."

Arthur pictured himself screaming at Incep, creating in his mind the look on his face. Just thinking about it was relatively satisfying. Still, it seemed terribly impractical.

"If nothing else, it will be a good way to channel all that frustration, sexual and otherwise." The casual smirk was almost scoffed at, but then Arthur was too caught up in the smoldering look to say anything at all.

After a moment of chocking on his own tongue, his voice finally asserted itself. "But I c-" Eames was having none of it.

"I believe in you, Arthur. I know you can do this."

The level of conviction meant something, against the backdrop of his persistently inane commentary and carefree demeanor.

Once more before Arthur could respond, he pulled something glossy and stiff out of his satchel, writing his name and number on the papery back of it. He slid it across the table with one confident movement. "Here, darling. Phone me if you need me, or if you, you know, just want me. Either way." He winked saucily, and Arthur rolled his eyes in affected irritation.

Flipping it over, he realized it was one of Eames' school pictures. He almost squawked indignantly at the egotism of the gift, until Eames, now packed and standing, held a hand up to silence him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist; we got those today. I needed something to write on." The grin belied his innocuous words. "Cheerio, Artie-baby."

Arthur blushed furiously, and Eames was long gone before he regained composure.

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. Special thanks to my one consistent reviewer, Bethany; love you babe. You set a good example. ;) Ideas are always welcome.

**_If there are any other episodes you'd like to see Eamthur-fied, let me know!_**


	6. Part VI

A/N: I own neither 'Inception' nor 'Glee' nor Katy Perry ... Real love is a biznatch. I've been disillusioned; love can make you think the best things of people. I still look forward to the next time I fall in the drink (or love, whatever you kids are calling it), but I've really learned that ex's are never the people you thought they were when you loved them. Plus, now my ex claimed to be straight! (Yes, I'm gay. I trust if you're reading this you have no problem with that.) And, it's like 'really, honey? I know you. Like, pretty Biblically. You're gay.' Anyway, enough about me and exs I only get over a year post-break-up. Just, be careful in love, kiddos, and enjoy the story! It doesn't get better than fiction. ;)

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><p><strong><em>Teenage DrEAMES<em>**

_Summary: Cobb and Mal are the power couple, Ariadne's a cheerleader for the sneaky Coach Fischer, Arthur is the awkward gay kid that the jocks kick around, and Mr. Saito just wants to prepare the kids for Sectionals; this is all typical for New Perceptions, the Cobol High Glee Club. That is, until Arthur sneaks into Mombasa Preparatory and watches the dreamy lead singer of The Forgers perform. NBK x Incep!_

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><p>By a sequence of totally unexpected events bearing utterly no relation to the memories of heated looks or fluttered lashes or pink, full lips crooning Katy Perry love songs his direction, the picture ended up framed and hung in his locker.<p>

Honestly. Arthur had no idea why or how it got there. Along with his new, mysterious ring tone, the one that said something about beach motels and forts made out of sheets. Hormones might have had something to do with it. Yes, a whole lot of hormones were to blame.

But, despite scandalizing statements of Mal's, he was not 'mooning' over it. The word did not apply firstly because that description is sappy and secondly because it is also used to describe a person revealing one's buttocks. No, he simply occasionally took a moment to _appreciate_ it, and if he had a much better day for it, then who was to argue?

Having once absently texted Eames that he had heard Katy Perry on the radio ('thinking of you' had not been spelled out, but Arthur kicked himself for fueling the implication) he clung to the cellular device at all times, because though he steadfastly refused to reply to most of them, claiming they were annoying, Eames had developed the tendency of besieging his inbox with texts.

_'goodness! Just tried my coffee black. Don't no how u stomach it, darling.'_

_'have a good day, cupcake + remember, u r a prince among plebeian scum … pro'ly already new that, tho. 3'_

_'a pearl among swine'_

_'a rose among thorns'_

_'a Mazda among jalopies? Scratch that, u'd b a Toyota Prius.' _That one had actually earned a laugh, even if Arthur didn't respond via text.

_'I just exploded sumthing n chem lab. oops. Yusuf passes on his regards.'_

_'text me back, sugar, just 2 let me no u r not dead'_

_'more practice 2night! Ttfn! (or if u want 2 come watch again I could sing Train 2 u luv) ;)'_

The temptation was there, but he didn't. He did, however, relax about Eames' egregious lack of proper English and text him Post-Serenade Day Two, after being thrown in the dumpster by the jocks that morning.

_'Ugh, just got thrown in for another dumpster dive. I fucking hate this place.'_

He had regretted his lack of restraint and decorum the moment after he sent it, but his phone buzzed and he ended up, in between grabbing a duffel from his locker to change his clothes, explaining over the phone what he meant by a 'dumpster dive' and other monstrosities that occurred at this school, such as 'slushies'. The text had been worth it to start the day with a ten-minute conversation with Eames.

He got a different type of text that day.

_'Courage.'_

No pet names, no finery, just a simple word that seemed delivered with the same conviction Eames' belief in him had been. It nearly took his breath way.

Incep _literally_ did.

_... I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece ..._

Arthur barely heaved himself to his feet, staggering to the sink after Inceps assault. He hurled, and rinsed the regurgitation down the drain. He then proceeded to rub water across his mouth with vigor and rinsed all the way back to his tonsils. By the time he left that locker room, his lips felt chapped and tingly, probably from his own brutal treatment more than Incep's.

Still.

His stink, the reak of the sweat and the pressure of vicious, unwarranted desire, the slimy underside of his lips as the rubbed sloppily against Arthur's mouth and the skin around it, _this_ was what composed his first kiss from a boy. As much as he desired to be practical, he couldn't help but be disappointed.

Tears stung the back of his eyes, and he was ashamed doubly.

But, in his stiff, petrified shock and disgust, he sought the one thing that had given him the strength to get up. His phone. Scattered across the hallway.

He couldn't even feel embarrassed as he got on his hands and knees to put the pieces back together and turn it on again. He cursed the boy for being right, but at this moment he did _need_ Eames. Fuck, he needed him enough to skip English.

Turning on the cellular device from Eames, he saw one more text.

_'Of course, safety b4 courage, but u no that.'_

Arthur laughed wryly; the text was so appropriate it was almost offensive. He flipped through his contacts, considered adding him to speed dial, and, for the second time that day, called.

_"Darling! Twice in one day; really, I must have won the phone lottery, b-"_

"Eames."

The British boy sobered immediately at the hitch in Arthur's voice, and Arthur cursed his inability to feign normalcy. _"Hon? What happened?"_

"Courage … Courage failed." Arthur slid down the wall he leaned on, plunking his head toward it to let the tears drain back.

_"You don't have to confront them if you can't, sweetheart. I completely un-"_

"No, Mr. Eames, that's not it! I did confront them!" The words were broken by a swallow of air. "I confronted him."

A guttural growl wove its way into Eames' tone. _"Did he hurt you, Arthur?"_

"Not … not exactly."

_"Not exactly?"_

Arthur winced, aware he'd have to rehash the tale as well as perfectly certain he'd start crying again if he did. He took the plunge. "I-he kissed me."

_"What?"_

"Well, he shoved me, this huge guy that's always harassing me. Incep. He's got to be the biggest high schooler I've ever seen. Anyway, then I yelled at him and, well, I ended up chasing him to the locker room, right? And we had a … confrontation. It came to an apex and he … sort of … kissed me." He rolled his eyes, furiously wiping away falling tears as some of his snarky self was coming back to him. "Well, if you call that a kiss."

Eames chuckled a little, and then allowed a silence that was blissfully not awkward. The dirty laundry was aired, and Eames was just there for him. That was enough.

As was inevitable, the British boy broke the silence. _"How often do you have to see this jerk, love?"_

"Everyday, pretty much. Not in classes, but in the hall."

_"Then I think I should come … have a 'talk' with him."_

Arthur flushed at the resolve in Eames' voice, indescribably flattered by the idea of a boy like Eames defending him. "No, no you can't beat him up." He sniffed embarrassingly loudly. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

_"Sweet of you, babe; I didn't know you cared!"_ Eames mocked a swoon and earned a timid laugh. _"But I'm still coming. Tomorrow. I'll take first lunch and meet you in the front hall, at your earliest convenience. If not to intimidate him, then just because someone needs to talk to him about being gay. And intimidate him. And I'd never pass up a chance to see your pretty face … Bloody hell, I'm pissed you have to see this brute everyday."_

Arthur smiled. It was nice to have someone in his corner and not have to feel guilt about making his dad worry. Then, one part of what Eames said caught up to him. "Gay. Damn. I never noticed. Why didn't I know? I should've known …"

_ "This is not your fault, pearl."_ Eames' accent made the words more believable somehow.

"Yeah, I know. At least I think I should know." Arthur sighed, his breath rattling along the phone line, still ragged with tears. "Wait, what did you just call me?"

_"Pearl."_ He heard coughing that, from any other source, would sound bashful. _"I, uh, called you 'pearl'."_

"Among swine, hm?" Arthur smiled, feeling the salty residue of his tears stretch with the motion.

_"So you were reading those!"_

He laughed, albeit wetly. "Yes, yes I was." A feeling of contentment and relief settled over him as the conversation continued. Knowing the British boy was coming tomorrow somehow equated knowing everything was going to be alright.

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><p><span>AN: Thank you for reading! Review if so inclined/inspired, love. ANOTHER special thanks to my sweetheart, Bethany; your extra review kicked me into uploading this. Ideas are always welcome.

**_If there are any other episodes you'd like to see Eamthur-fied, let me know!_**


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